Insight Marketing

Who wins the fight: guiding people from within or nudging them from without?

by

“All those chimps who get trained in American Sign Language — one of the first words they master is ‘tickle’ and one of the first sentences is ‘tickle me.” In college, I worked with one of those chimps. He’d do the ‘tickle me’ sequence correctly, and you’d tickle him like mad — chimps curl up and cover their ribs and make this fast, soundless, breathy giggle when they’re being tickled. Stop, he sits up, catches his breath, mops his brow because of how it’s all just too much. Then he gets a gleamy look in his eye and it’s, ‘Tickle me,’ all over again.”
— Robert Sapolsky, Why Zebras Don’t Get Ulcers

In chapter 16 of his Zebras book, Robert Sapolsky attacks the question of why we can’t tickle ourselves. It’s not as trivial as it seems.

According to Sapolsky, pleasure requires an element of surprise and lack of control. Like the chimp story above shows, getting tickled is a kind of pleasure. But you can’t tickle yourself — because you can’t surprise yourself and you’re always in full control.

I thought of this because I’ve been beating my head against a related question lately. Let me set it up with a quote from Oren Klaff’s Flip the Script:

“Make people feel like the idea is coming from them and they will place more value on it, believe it more deeply, adopt it more quickly, and remember it more easily.”

This makes a lot of sense to me. In fact, I’m writing a book right now on this topic, which I call insight marketing. The problem is, I’m not sure it’s true. At least not all the time.

Here’s my reasoning:

If Klaff is 100% right, then what’s the purpose of coaches, hypnotists, and inspirational speakers? Those people earn their bread by standing around and planting ideas in others’ heads. For most people who hire hypnotists, coaches, and inspirational speakers, the effect wouldn’t be the same if they simply had those ideas themselves.

Another example:

When I was a kid, I would ask my grandfather to tell me a story each night. He only knew one story, Little Red Riding Hood. It didn’t matter. I loved hearing it over and over, even though I knew it by heart. Why didn’t I just play it in my own head?

Let me make it clear I don’t have good answers to these questions. In fact, I am hoping you can help me out.

My guess is that there are situations where coming to a realization yourself is more powerful… while in other situations, having an idea come from outside is better. But what determines which side of the mountain you end up on? At this point, I don’t know.

So if you have any theories about this, or if you can point me to some research on the matter, please write me and let me know. I’ll be grateful to you, and the science of insight marketing will take a step forward thanks to your contribution.

How to make your dry expertise sexy and shareable

by

A few days ago, I saw a tantalizing clickbait headline, which read,

“Was there PTSD in the ancient or medieval world?”

I clicked and landed on a blog post, which took me for a spin. It turns out there was no PTSD way back when. But that doesn’t matter as much as what I read at the top of the post.

At the top of the post, the author, one Brett Deveraux, gave a recap of the first year of his blog. He started in May 2019. He’s written several dozen posts since then, mostly on ancient military history.

But get this… Deveraux’s blog has had 650,000 visits so far. The number of monthly visitors keeps growing. Each post gets dozens of comments. And Deveraux’s even got 93 Patreon subscribers.

Just in case I am not making the astoudingness of this perfectly clear:

This is an academic historian. Writing on things like PTSD in the Roman army. Who will soon get a million eyeballs on his blog. And who, if he were just a tad better at marketing, could pull in thousands of dollars from his hobby site each month.

Doesn’t this sound like 2010? Is the long tail still alive and well? Does Google have a crush on Brett Devereaux for some reason?

Here’s my theory.

The most popular content on Deveraux’s site, by far, is a series of posts analyzing the siege of Gondor. (Lord of the Rings movie 2, in case you’re too cool.)

In other words, Deveraux used a popular movie to illustrate his arcane knowledge. Knowledge which would otherwise be completely indigestible to the vast majority of people.

This reminded me of another popular content creator I’ve been harping on about. I’m talking about movie editor Tony Zhou. Zhou’s Every Frame a Painting on YouTube has the exact same structure as Deveraux’s blog. An expert in a specialized field, using fun pop culture to illustrate the basics of his craft.

As a result of this pop culture + expert mashup, Zhou and Deveraux had their content massively shared. For Zhou, it was through YouTube and on sites like Reddit. For Deveraux, it seems the nerds at Hacker News really like his stuff.

That’s how both Zhou and Deveraux got all that traffic and engagement.

So what’s the point of all this?

Well, I would like to suggest that this is a model you too could use. If you have any kind of dry, industry-specific knowledge nobody seems to care about, then pair it up with sexy pop culture illustrations. Show a clip from a movie. Then explain what really happened there, seen through the lens of your unique wisdom.

And write me a year after you publish your first post or video. Let me know how many millions of views you’ve had in the meantime. And if you need help monetizing your site at that point… well, that’s where my own dry expertise comes in.

The only currency your reader cares about

by

Don’t let the socialists hear about this one:

Back in 1832, a horse-and-man organization called the Equitable Labor Exchange issued a unique currency.

This currency looked much like your everyday money (with numbers and signatures and familiar font and color)…

It also functioned much like money (you could use it to pay at local London shops, several theaters, and even a tollgate)…

But unlike money, which is an abstract, bodyless entity, each unit of this currency represented something hard and definite:

One hour of labor.

This time-currency was conceived by one Robert Owen, a do-gooding factory owner who wanted to unleash prosperity and happiness on 19th-century Britain.

The start of Owen’s plan looked promising. Within 17 weeks, the Equitable Labor Exchange had deposits worth 440,000 work hours.

But ultimately, the project turned out to be a failure. The system was rewarding inefficiency. The Equitable Labor Exchange and its time-money disappeared a few years later.

Still, Robert Owen was on to a good idea, at least for copywriting.

Because even though we all assume copywriting prospects are moved by money, the same problem exists today:

Money remains an abstract, shapeless, bodyless entity.

Fortunately, money can buy you lots of shapeful, concrete things. And so you can convince readers of the value of what you’re selling, not by repeating numbers with a dollar sign in front of them… but by converting money into what it does:

So $0.24 becomes a romantic dinner over a bowl of Maruchan instant ramen…

$12.99 becomes a year’s worth of fun and insight, reading Modern Cat magazine…

And $19.84 becomes 10 gallons of gasoline, which by my back-of-the-envelope math, is enough to power a chainsaw long enough to cut down 280 oak trees. That’s a small forest!

Maybe I’m not tempting you with these dumb examples. But I think you get the point.

As long as you do your research, so you know what your prospect really values and wants, you can figure out a way to translate ugly, meaningless cyphers into that other currency your reader actually cares about.

And that can mean more money for you — and everything else that money can buy.

An easy guiding principle to creating vision in your prospects

by

Once upon a time, somewhere in America, there lived a very successful life insurance salesman.

He couldn’t speak, and he was bound to a wheelchair.

And yet, when it came to selling life insurance, the man was tremendous.

He used a marker and a little dry-erase board to communicate. Patiently, he would write his questions on the board, and then he’d hand it over to his prospects. His most effective question, the one that flipped the switch and lit up his prospects’ brains, was:

“If we lose you, where will your family live?”

I read this story in Jim Camp’s Start with No. Camp used it to illustrate the power of painting a vision of the prospect’s pain. “No vision,” Camp used to say, “no decision.”

Of course, in written copy, it’s not always the best choice to start asking questions. The dynamic is different than when you have a real person sitting across from you. But the same principle applies.

Create vision in your prospects.

There are lots of tricks and techniques for doing it. But there’s one easy guiding principle that lords above them all:

Create a vision in yourself first.

Your prospects will pick up on it, however you choose to communicate, and they will make the decision — the one you’d like for them to make.

Sharing news about new in five minutes or less

by

There are two things I want to share with you today. One is news, the other is new. Let’s start with news:

I read an article today about how the media failed to predict the corona situation — and that’s why their initial reporting was so complacent.

To which I made the Scooby Doo “huh?” noise. Because from what I’ve seen over the years, the media doesn’t do prediction, at least not seriously. Instead, the media reports on the status quo.

Before the corona situation exploded, the status quo was complacency. Now, the status quo is panic, and the media is reporting accordingly. When the pandemic begins to wane and it’s time for things to go back to normal, the media message will likely be obliviousness that anything bad ever happened.

Which brings up this distinction between news and new. I first heard it from computer scientist Alan Kay. Says Alan,

“News is stuff that’s incremental to what we already know. This is why you can tell the news in five minutes. ‘Hey, a train just crashed.’ We all know what that means. […] New is by definition not like what we already know. There’s no news about new. There’s nothing you can tell somebody in five minutes about what new is.”

So I got two takeaways for you:

First, I’m not sure if it’s possible to do a good job predicting the future. Perhaps, among enough people, a few just get lucky.

But, if it is possible, then like Alan Kay says above, it’s unlikely you’ll find the future on the evening news, on Facebook, or on Vox.

But really, we’re here to talk about marketing.

So the other thing I want to tell you is how this news vs. new business can make you money. This is something I heard from marketer Todd Brown.

I didn’t know who Todd Brown was until recently. Apparently, he’s a big name in the IM space, and he’s worked with Jay Abraham, Clayton Makepeace, and Rich Schefren.

Todd’s message was that, whenever you’re positioning a new offer, you should never present it as an incremental improvement over the status quo (ie. news). Instead, always look for a way to present your offer as something entirely new and different — a marketplace of one.

“But hold on,” you might say. “Your offer should be something new… and yet there is no way to share news about new. So how do you convince prospects to buy in?”

That’s a good question. And it’s something I’m trying to answer in my new book on the use of insight in marketing. I’m making good progress on this book, and I hope to finish it in the next six to seven years (just kidding, hopefully another month or so).

If you’d like to get notified when it comes out, sign up for my daily email newsletter and you will get more emails from me about it.

The persuasion moral of the cock and the jewel

by

Let’s start with a short story:

“A COCK, scratching for food for himself and his hens, found a precious stone and exclaimed: ‘If your owner had found thee, and not I, he would have taken thee up, and have set thee in thy first estate; but I have found thee for no purpose. I would rather have one barleycorn than all the jewels in the world.'”

If the old English puts you off, I can understand. And I’m sorry. Please don’t keep reading in that case.

If you’re still with me, what would you say is the moral of this story? Think about it, and we will get back to it in a second.

Meanwhile, let me tell you this is one of Aesop’s fables.

Aesop’s fables have been used for thousands of years to give pithy illustrations to situations we’ve all experienced but we don’t have a good and short name for. Like sour grapes. Or the boy who cried wolf. Two more of Aesop’s fables. I bet you know what those two mean.

But what about the cock and the jewel above? To start to answer that, let me first share a quote with you from a book I’m reading about analogies, written by one John Pollack, and titled Shortcut:

“The degree to which an analogy is or is not ‘accurate’ in a given circumstance is irrelevant, it is the feelings and ideas they evoke that makes them so powerful.”

Fact is, we humans love stories and analogies and fables so much that we are really not too critical about them. We accept the implied meaning and we take it for granted.

Of course, that’s good news for persuaders, influencers, and manipulators of all stripes. As one magician of persuasion, Gary Bencivenga, wrote a while ago:

“This process of transferring the qualities of one thing into another takes place instantly, bypassing critical analysis and resistance. All you do is compare A to B in an effective way and voila! your point is made instantly without disagreement.”

There’s good science behind why this is so, but I won’t go into that now, because I am so concerned with the cock and the jewel.

What does this fable really mean?

The best I can do is to point you to an article titled “The Moral of the Story.”

It was written a couple years ago by an actual poet named Anthony Madrid. If the mention of poetry scares you, as it scares me, then I want you to take a deep breath and relax. Because Anthony Madrid’s articles are all easy to read and fun, and they are mind-opening if you’re interested in language.

​​So here’s “The Moral of the Story,” which explains the moral of the “Cock and the Jewel,” or rather, the half dozen contradictory morals that have been scratched up over the centuries:

https://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2018/11/21/the-moral-of-the-story/

Gratuitous fun to make readers beg for buttermilk

by

For the first 20 or 30 years of my life, I had this serious mental defect where I couldn’t enjoy a good bangemup action movie.

“So unrealistic,” I snuffled. “So predictable.” That’s how I wasted decades of my life.

Thank God I’ve grown up. Because I just watched and enjoyed True Lies, James Cameron’s 1994 action comedy, starring Arnold Schwarzenegger as super spy/boring suburban dad Harry Tasker, and Jamie Lee Curtis as his stodgy/talented wife Helen.

The initial reason I watched True Lies was the following famous line, delivered by a used car salesman who’s trying to seduce Helen… and who is unwittingly confiding to Harry about it:

“And she’s got the most incredible body, too, and a pair of titties that make you wanna stand up and beg for buttermilk. Ass like a ten year old boy!”

Which modern Hollywood screenplay would dare have that?

But even beyond the risky dialogue, I was surprised by how fun this movie is. I guess that’s the only word to describe it. For example, as the movie goes on, you get to see:

– an old man sitting on a public toilet, calmly reading a newspaper, during the first shootout between Harry and the bad guy

– Harry riding a horse into an elevator, and an aristocratic couple in the elevator getting whipped in the face by the horse’s tail

– Tia Carrere (the evil seductress in the movie) rushing to grab her purse before the bad guys drop a box with a nuclear warhead onto it

– a pelican landing on a teetering van full of terrorists and sending it crashing off the bridge

– Harry saving the day flying a military jet, perfectly landing the plane, and then accidentally bumping a cop car

The point is that all these details are what I call “gratuitous fun.”

They weren’t in any way central to the action of the movie… and even the comedic part of the plot could have done without them.

They were just pure, unnecessary fun that made the movie sparkle a bit more. And I guess they helped it become the success that it was, netting almost $400 million in 1994 dollars.

I think the message is clear:

This year, surprise your readers with some gratuitous fun in your online content, in your sales messages, and even your one-to-one business communication. People love James Cameron’s movies. They will love your stuff, too. In fact, you’ll make them wanna stand up and beg for buttermilk. Whatever that means.

Send the juices rushing back to your prospect’s manhood with a new diagnosis

by

“You start with the pills, next thing you know you got implants with pumps. I think a hard-on should be gotten legitimately or not at all.”

That’s a bit of dialogue from 1999’s Analyze This.

Mafia boss Paul Vitti, played by Robert De Niro, is having problems. Hard-on failures are a part of it.

So he barges into the office of Dr. Ben Sobel, a New York shrink, played by Billy Crystal.

Vitti doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. All he knows is he gets choked up all the time, he cries without reason, he’s uncomfortable hanging out with the guys he’s grown up with. And then there’s the hard-on issue.

“Have you been under a lot of stress lately?” Dr. Sobel asks him.

“You mean like seeing your best friend murdered?” Vitti shoots back. “Yeah, I got stress.”

Dr. Sobel shrugs his shoulders and makes his first-level diagnosis: It’s probably the stress that’s causing all of Vitti’s symptoms.

Vitti visibly brightens at this. He smiles and points his finger at Dr. Sobel.

“You… YOU… you’re very good, doc,” he says. “You’re right on the money. I can feel the juices rushing back to my manhood as we speak.”

I rewatched this movie recently. It’s not very good overall, but I watched it specifically for this scene, because it’s a great (if caricatured) illustration of the power of making a new diagnosis.

And of course this goes for marketing too:

Your prospect out there has vague or intractable problems. All he knows is he doesn’t feel right. The symptoms he can point to are not something he understands, or can fix himself.

And then you, as the marketer, kindly sit him down on your couch, and you give him a diagnosis he’s never heard before:

“You’re under stress.”

Or…

“You’re a bright-shiny-object addict.”

Or…

“You have hypothyroidism.”

Once you make your new diagnosis, your prospect sees the fog lifted from before his eyes. For that moment at least, he lights up, and he thinks his problem has been solved, or at least can be solved. He feels the juices flowing back to his manhood… or womanhood.

More importantly, in that moment, he think you, YOU, are very good. And he’s willing to follow your lead, even as you explain how your product or service naturally addresses the underlying cause of his problems.

Of course, in Analyze This, the true underlying cause of Vitti’s problems turned out to be more complex than simple stress.

The same will probably happen in your prospect’s life. But if you do an honest enough job of delivering the diagnosis for the surface-level symptoms… and if your recommendation based on that diagnosis isn’t too self-serving… then your patient, I mean prospect, will still listen to you when you offer to solve the deeper problems in his life.

A screeching halt for curiosity subject lines

by

A few days ago, my (former) car started giving me serious barney.

Suddenly, I couldn’t change gears properly.

One time, I was in second gear, trying to shift into third.

After a struggle, I got it out of second gear… but instead of third gear, it hopped into first.

Of course, since I was trying to speed up, black smoke shot out the diesel exhaust, the car revved up with a roar, and then slowed down. The exact opposite of what I was trying to accomplish.

I bring this up because right around the time this car trouble started, I sent out an email with the subject line,

“My biggest email mistake of 2019”

It was about how I don’t get much love whenever I use bizarre, curiosity-first subject lines. To which a reader named Andrew responded:

“I’ve noticed similar variations with my own email open rates depending on the subjects. For example, my list really doesn’t like rants, but the same email posted to LinkedIn as a blog post generally does much better.”

Andrew’s definitely got a point.

There are general principles of how to create an effective message, whether that’s an email, a blog post, or a YouTube video.

But much also also depends on the medium and the market.

For example, people are saturated with marketing emails — and they are much more ready to dismiss a weird email. On the other hand, LinkedIn probably has way fewer direct marketers, and something that stands out as a little bizarre might do very well there.

In other words, what works in one setting might not work in the other. Maybe that’s Obvious Adams.

But unless you take the trouble to find out what works where… and adjust your (formerly effective) message accordingly…

Then you might find that the end result is like jamming your car into the wrong gear: black smoke, an unpleasant noise, and a screeching halt.

Blood-sucking Transylvanian copywriting secrets

by

For the past week, I’ve been reading a book called The Land Beyond The Forest.

It was written in the late 19th century by a Scottish woman named Emily Gerard, who lived for a good part of her life in Transylvania (a section of today’s Romania). This book was one of the inspirations for Bram Stoker’s Dracula, which was published about 10 years after Gerard’s book.

Anyways, I came across the following passage in the book, which has a lot of value if you’re a copywriter — or just trying to craft sticky messages. Gerard’s writing is in italics and indented, my comments in regular font:

“As in Italy, the recitatore (story-teller), called here provestitore, holds an important place among the Roumanians.”

People love a good story, and they always will. That’s why you should use stories in copy whenever you can.

“The stories recited usually belong to the class of ogre and fairy tale, and would seem rather adapted to a nursery audience than to a circle of full-grown men and women.”

Parris Lampropoulos once said we all believe in magic. It can be overt like these Romanian peasants and their fairy tales… but it’s true even of nerdy and rational 21st century science buffs.

“Sometimes in verse, sometimes in prose, these stories oftenest set forth the adventures of some prince subjected to the cruel persecutions of a giant or sorcerer. The hero has usually a series of tasks allotted to him, or difficulties to be overcome, before he is permitted to enjoy his father’s throne in peace and lead home the beautiful princess to whom he is attached.”

A perfect 2-sentence summary of the hero’s journey, which is one good template you can use to tell a compelling story in copy.

“The tasks dealt out to him must be three at least, sometimes six, seven, nine, or twelve; but never more than this last number, which indeed is quite sufficient for the endurance even of a fairy prince.”

Same thing in copywriting. When you’re giving proof, arguments, or examples, it’s common and effective to give three of the bunch. Plus, if you swap out “task” and put in “bonus” or “premium,” you get the structure of a good offer.

“When the tasks are nine or twelve in number they are then grouped together in batches of three, each batch being finished off with some stereotyped phrase, such as, ‘But our hero’s trials were not yet over by any means, and much remains still to be told.'”

“But wait, there’s more!” Some phrases are so valuable that they keep surfacing across cultures, across media, and across centuries.

“As a matter of course, these trials must always be arranged crescendo, advancing in horror and difficulty towards the end.”

This reminds me of something I heard in a video by copywriter Kyle Milligan. Kyle quoted Agora Fiancial chief Joe Schriefer, who apparently says, “The magic show must always get better!” In other words, the proof must improve, and the results too.

And that, young Nosferatu, is the quote I wanted to share with you.

You probably know this already, but there are predictable ways to get into people’s heads and influence them. Direct marketing copywriters have figured out many of these tricks for themselves.

​​But if you look around, there are other disciplines, or even folk traditions, that can give you good ideas for how to craft sticky, influential messages. And this passage from Gerard’s blood-sucking Transylvanian book is just one good example of that.